Essential
by vortirla
Summary: Life’s tough and destiny’s cruel, but sometimes three good meals can be all you need. Peter, Claire - gen - shippy if you want. Written before end of Season One.


**A/N - **I wrote this mid-2007, before episode 1x19: .07% was aired, for the heroes holidays ficathon at livejournal (for lj user 'deepwonderment'). Just posting here to keep all my fanfiction together and, while it's not perfect, I'm still a little fond of it. Review if you please. :)

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**I. First Breakfast**

Peter was invisible when he walked into his mother's home, maintaining the illusion as he drew closer to the voices heard in the dining room. His control over his abilities was improving enormously, and it became almost a hobby of his to spend his time utilising one power; invisibility, in particular, providing a refreshing outlook on daily life. Claude was both right and wrong. People _did_ suck, just not all of them and not all the time. He would stumble upon the suckiness of life because he'd crash into their exact moments; if he wanted to find the charming moments in living, he'd just have to glide into their exact moments too.

Formal breakfast between Mom, Nathan, and Claire? Probably an unhappy medium.

His mother (who Peter was positive orchestrated the whole thing) was making conversation in that amicable, but formal, fashion of hers. Whether she knew it or not, Peter personally thought she lived to highlight the "unspeakables" in life; the flush up Nathan's neck when she mentioned the extent of his childhood fixation on superheroes proving him right.

At the moment the aforementioned brother looked bothered; unusually distracted by matters not even Peter knew about (yet). Nathan had been acting strange ever since he returned from Las Vegas, and Peter was almost afraid to know what exactly had occurred.

But most importantly, Claire looked uncomfortable; the highly unexpected 'Getting-to-know-you' breakfast feeling as awkward as she would have expected it to be anyway. The look on her face reminded him of how he felt whenever he was forced to go to those formal functions as he grew up. Peter couldn't help but sympathise.

Waving over a fancy sheet of paper (because there was no such thing as scraps in Angela Petrelli's house), Peter watched while Claire's eyes widened at the object floating unsupported into her lap. Her small, grateful smile confirmed his message was not lost. _'Breakfast with Mom and Nathan; I feel your pain.'_

He left the room satisfied.

**II. Sixth Lunch**

Lunch became a ridiculous affair—at least, whenever it was just Claire and Peter. It turned into a tradition, of sorts, for the two of them to eat fast food, and then argue over how unhealthy, tasty, and everything in between either of their meals were.

Today Claire had a cheeseburger meal, and Peter had a…well _he_ called it salad.

"_What_ are you doing?" Claire asked perplexed. "Does that even have flavour?"

Peter gave his niece a perturbed look. "It's not going to kill me—" he paused to eye her slowly disappearing lunch, "—unlike your heart attack waiting to happen."

Claire smiled smugly and took a big bite out of her cheeseburger. "Mmm, mmm, _mmm. De_licious."

"My lunch tastes fine."

"My lunch tastes _better_."

"Your lunch will kill you."

"I'm invincible!"

"I doubt your regenerative abilities cover abuse to your diet."

"You have, like, fifteen different powers. I think you need to live a little. Have a triple Big Mac or something!"

"Is that even possible? Besides, I think soaring above New York is living enough."

"Pfft. And _you're_ the rebel brother." The former cheerleader dusted the crumbs off her hands and scrunched the wrapper into a ball. She placed several fries into her mouth with as much dignity she could muster, and raised her eyebrows in challenge.

Peter said nothing, simply imitating her action, only with a serving of his chicken salad.

Claire snorted. _Are you kidding?_

A knowing smile was all she received in return. Shrugging, Claire let her expression relax and endeavoured to finish the last of her meal—a very easy mission, if she did say so herself. She only had a few fries left when she noticed the frozen expression on the younger (no longer the youngest) Petrelli's face.

"What's wrong?" She frowned as Peter didn't budge. "Peter…" Claire looked worriedly over her shoulder, looking for what he could possibly he staring at. "Peter, what's happ—" she turned back, "—ening…"

Her lunch had disappeared from her reach, a boring looking salad in its place, while Peter ate his (her!) fries looking anything but innocent.

_Oh…that was new._

The grin plastered on his face transformed at the punch to his arm.

"Hey!"

**III. Last Dinner**

One way or another, tomorrow would be the day to affect the rest of their lives. However the world turned and however the key conspirators chose (or were able) to commit, things were about to change. Claire was still a teenager, a few years off of becoming officially 'legal', and the way events were developing honestly scared her. Not that she was any less determined than anyone else, mind you, but even heroes had fears. Claire was more than grateful to be able to spend, possibly, the last complete day of her life with someone who understood. And destiny was kind enough to make them kin.

"Are you afraid?"

She watched carefully for Peter's reaction. He was in the middle of a bite of pizza, and his chewing transitioned into a more deliberate and calculated movement as she posed her question. Eventually he swallowed and looked her in the eye. "The truth?"

Claire let out a barely audible, amused, huff. "Of course."

Peter sighed. "A little." He paused. "Or a lot." He ran his hands through his hair anxiously; Claire made a mental note to force him to have it trimmed. "It's complicated, I guess. I'm afraid that I won't be able to stop this…that I've worked so hard to gain control, but might lose it at that crucial moment."

She nodded in understanding. "Do you think you can stop it?"

Her uncle frowned. "Yes…definitely." He deadpanned, "I just don't know if I will."

The young blonde looked down at her pizza slice, thinking. The bomb. Fate. Did they really have a say in the matter?

"I know you will," she assured him quietly, convincing herself in turn. The corners of her lips quirked up into an unmistakable grin. "And you know I'm always right."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head amusedly. "If you insist, Miss Miracle-Gro."

Her smile softened into something more contemplative, and gave Peter an earnest look. "Seriously…you'll save the world. You're a hero."


End file.
